I used to read self-help books.
I’ve read some very useful ones too.
I particularly like Shakti Gawain’s Living in the Light, where I learned that reality is what you make of it; or it’s all about your own perspective.
And there’s another one, that I can’t remember the title or author, but what I learned was how to deal with problems –
1) Recognize the problem.
2) Is there anything you can do about it.
- a) If not … stop worrying about it, there’s nothing you can do.
- b) If there is … identify what you can do about it.
(i) Decide if you are willing to do what is necessary
(ii) If you are willing – do it.
(iii) If you aren’t willing – stop worrying about it because you aren’t willing to do what is necessary (no guilt or shame – it’s your choice, and you are deciding to live with whatever the consequences are).
I have found this immensely useful over the years.
Now I’m a fat OLD lady, I cannot bring myself to read self-help books.
There is usually at least one offered for a great price on my daily BookBub e-mail.
But, let’s face it.
If I really wanted to change, I’d have done it years ago, when I would have lots of time to enjoy the benefits of that change.
Besides, I’m pretty fucking happy with who I am – except …
I am one lousy housekeeper.
As I’ve said before, I am my mother’s child:
“You can put your name in the dust, just don’t put the date.”
My grandmother, who I take after a lot, was a great housekeeper. She made it seem effortless. Of course, I now realize, she did her cleaning while I was at my job.
Also, she had a whole basement to hide her excess clutter in.
My mom had a whole basement too (and a much larger house, plus a big cedar-lined room out in the garage, for clothing), but my mom’s excess clutter was mostly actually crap – tons of old magazines she was never going to look at, lots of clothes that were no longer wearable by anyone in our house.
I live in a tiny house with my husband, and I have enough clutter to rival my mother’s. Although, I’m a little better about weeding out crap from time to time.
What I really want is a self-help book that isn’t written by some sweet young thing full of vim and vigor and with their whole life ahead of them.
I want one written by a crabby old person who is tired, tired, tired; and really doesn’t give a shit about what other people think, on how to get the maximum amount done with the least amount of effort.
Now that would be helpful.